Of Course
by Izabella the Se7enth
Summary: If I had the ability to stop the world from falling into the hell hole it had before, I'd do it. But, dammit, it's going to be extremely troublesome.
1. Intro

**I redid the first chapter, in case anyone cares. I hope it's a bit easier to understand now.**

Chapter 1

The sun beamed down intensely, gusts of warm wind blew past almost in a sequence. My shirt stuck like second skin, feeling damp and hot from my sweat. This place was the previous area of the state known formally as California, or, more recently, District 13. Summers around here normally turned sweltering, so this type of weather was expected.

"Keep together," an order. There were a few strangled breaths as a small group of kids pushed forward. Not many people understand my method of training. Forcing everyone to stay at an equal, yet swift pace is more than just a test of endurance, it's a tool for observing. With this I can tell who are naturally gifted apart from those who're just plain cocky and/or has a sort of superiority complex; each one needing a different form of guidance. From there it breaks down into different branches of specialties. Who can fire with deadly aim? Who knows best about plants? Which one can strategize? These are critical pieces of information any good mentor should know to help their students gain strength.

We were currently stationed on an open prairie where some architects built a small, modest training field. They'd cut a perfectly measured track that had evenly silted dirt (perfect for running) with trimmed grass surrounding it. Thankfully, they'd also stationed us near the very edge of a man-made forest, close to where a generous clump of trees sat in case I felt they needed to practice their camouflaging. Oh, how sharp that planner must have been.

"We've got a bunch of saplings this year, huh, Katniss?" a voice remarked from behind me. It was low and playful, a bit gravelly and much too familiar. I could never make up my mind when it came to my response. Should I have been happy to greet him, or annoyed that he found where I hid? Maybe I ought to feel some contempt. I knew I didn't consider shame as an option (to be honest, there isn't much to be shameful about) but it may not have been far from it. I thought for a while, weighing different options, and settled with a friendly, neutral welcome (of sorts). I didn't look up before responding.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work… over by _your_ home… hundreds of miles _away_ from me, Finnick?" I asked, distracted. Sure he and I made a respectable friendship over the past few years, but it wasn't as if I had to completely acknowledged his presence. He grinned and sat next to me.

"Johanna and little junior weren't seeing eye to eye this morning. She asked me to fill in. And considering The fact that I was here for a visit, I accepted. Haven't seen you in a while." I lifted an eyebrow, "How far along is she again?" He took up an exaggerated thinking pose, waiting a while to draw out my patience, and, after my hand began to twice from irritation, he answered my _simple question_with a quick, "Almost eight months." Safe to say my mood turned from passive to sour in an instance. He began to chuckle lightly and leaned back on his elbows, letting my annoyance simmer down a bit. I never understood why he loved to tease me. He knew my anger wasn't something anyone _wanted_, and it certainly took a lot of energy on my part to let it pass.

Silence hung gratefully between us and I felt apathy serge back into my veins. This heat triggered more unwelcome mood swings than I felt was necessary.

The kids were almost done with their last lap when he randomly said, "Katniss, I do believe you're the one person every little kid wants to grow up as."

Sigh. I knew exactly where he was going with this.

"No, Finnick, I'm not going to profit off of this." He looked appalled. "That wasn't what I was-" "You've used that line before, and it always ends the same." There was a pause before he smiled and leaned backwards more. "I'm just saying, you could live a cushier life than this."

He nodded his head towards my lone house, normal and plane, surrounded by tall grass and a single Oak Tree. I put on a 'What of it?' expression and he shrugged, laying flat on his back with his head resting in his laced hands. "I know I could," I replied, "I've thought about it before. But it wouldn't seem right. I get enough alimony from the government. It's not like I'm poor. And besides, what of the children who can't afford it? I don't want their parents to go through pointless trouble."

Finnick remained quiet. Then he said, "You're different from the rest of us." He stared straight at me. I frowned, both of us knowing what he meant, and answered, "No, I'm similar. Maybe not as categorized as others, but closer than any normal person can get." His attention returned to the clouds, taking in my words. "Ever since the resistance won, things have been… boring." "Settled," I corrected, "But uneventful I suppose." "Do you think 'Panem' is killed off already, or still at a stage of starvation?" I watched as my students came to final turn. "Dead," I said simply. Finnick 'hm'ed in agreement.

The kids came up, one by one, some struggling to regain their breath more than others. "We're finished," said one of the older boys. He had a habit of puffing out has chest to make him look tougher and kept his long black hair tangled and unruly. "I can see that," I said, getting up. I knew all I needed to know.

"Here's the schedule. Marie and Dawn," I waited until two small twins scuttled forward, "Meet me here on training days from eight to eleven. Bring green and brown cloths only." Both faces stretched out into identical grins, happy I was interested in them. The little girl pulled on her blond bob cut before linking arms with her brother and sinking back into the background.

"Kent," again I waited from the two kids, no more than thirteen, walk up before me. "Meet here on training days from twelve to three. Bring only _one thing_you find that you may need." He nodded and returned to his places, smiling brightly.

"Thief." A girl, maybe around fourteen, stepped into view. "You train from four to eight. I've got your materials. Just be sure not to drag along anything avoidable." She gave a curt nod and stepped back, her expression solid and strong.

"And what about me, doc?" someone asked. I peered at the two remaining boys to my right, each standing tall and proud. "You? You report to me every morning, seven a.m. sharp. Being tardy is unacceptable and you leave when I say you leave. Colors on attire that go above neutral greens and such will be discarded and any complaints will end your lessons from me. Understood?" He smirked, "Completely."

"You know Liam, you shouldn't make any trouble. Not like you usually do," Kent warned. He had a sly, deliberate gleam in his eye. "Shut up, shrimpy," Liam threatened. "Oh, I'm so scared," Kent mocked with a dry sense of sarcasm. "Hey you little dweeb, come over here so I can teach you about respect," the older of the two growled. "Learn what you preach, blockhead," was his response. "So baby Kent's got guts, huh? Not for long," Liam said, lunging to tackle the boy.

Everything else burst out into a chaotic jumble after that.

Finnick came to stand beside me. "Aren't you going to do anything about that?" he asked, looking worried. I shrugged, "Observation is a key part of survival." I looked at him, noticing his unease, "Plus, it seems like a lot of trouble." He smiled, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

**Ok, this chapter isn't much else than an introduction. If you don't like it, then don't continue. I just posted this because I didn't see anything like this when I was skimming. I'll update soon, when I get my laptop back from my cousin. Okay, thank you for reading!**

**Se7en**


	2. I

The woods had always felt comforting. Hidden by trees and greenery, tracking animal prints in the mud, resting beneath an Oak's shade; almost all my happiest memories are spent here. There was the time when my father taught me how to draw my first bow, learning the importance of independency, quiet, and peace of mind, even Gale… as children.

Then there are my most _unpleasant _memories. The Hunger Games mostly. Nightmares of the bloodied snouts of Tribute Mutts, Rue's murder, and my countless near-death experiences fail to leave me. They all take turns, one by one, painting my mind with the color of fear. For a time I even became an insomniac. But none of those could compare with my imaginings of Peeta.

Surprisingly, whenever I dream of him, it's never peaceful. No. In fact, he twists my delusion into the worst form of torture my subconscious could summon. These past few nights in particular have been getting extremely rough.

But sadly that's part of my every-day now. These are the things I live for.

And these are the things that helped me live on.

**Chapter 2**

I'd spent my entire life after Panem surrounded by nature, traveling to the other side of the world simply to climb mountains or roam vast plains of nothing. I've experienced the overwhelming peacefulness of the rolling grass hills; the honor of seeing ancient, rustic boulders aligned the riverbanks of once famous canals, telling stories of a past I knew nothing of. And on those journeys, I'd found a disturbing sense of darkness.

Firstly, you should know, it is illegal to travel out of our nation. When the "depression" of our country finally ended, the governors felt that we should be using that time to rebuild our lives and plan a better future. But soon… their reasons grew more insistent and sounded somewhat like they were withholding something.

Something they didn't want leaking out in the tabloids.

Others didn't seem to notice, but it bothered be to no end. When I saw those broadcasts of people claiming we'd earned our rights back, I felt like scowling. Those happy smiles were lost on me. I couldn't understand their rejoicing anymore.

Sure, I was free. Sure, things were _much_ better than before, but there were things unsalvageable due to the uprising.

Like my empathy.

It was normal for me to wake up in the dead of night, on guard and waiting, as if someone in shadows was there to strangle me. The Hunger Games had befouled my mind, and I could do little to stop it.

And that was when my personality began to morph back into what it once was; uncontrollable, untamed.

The following morning I packed up and went to see the only person that would help in my new found insanity.

Finnick Odiar.

He'd supposedly died in the struggle of the Rebels and the Capital, but was actually sent to a lab once known as Area 51. I don't know what America had used it for previously, but things in there were messed up beyond belief, like a mad scientist's dream come true.

Scientist tested on his body for months, adding mechanics and energy that wasn't natural, you know, like in that old movie. What was it? Iron dude or something. His organs and motor skills reacted as they would normally and Finnick was deemed safe. Of course, he _was_ their first patient. I was exasperated when I had found out that those idiots wouldn't look into his case more. Sure, they'd revived a man, but would he _stay _that way?

When Finnick had shown himself in society again, the entire population went into a frenzy. I mean, bringing someone back to life was unheard of. It was all the media could publish, all gossip was about, and all anything that people ever talked about.

Strangely, nobody had cared about Finnick. Sure they had him do a few interviews and tests, but since the scientists had written down everything (process and results specifically) he was quickly forgotten and tossed away. Like an old, used toy.

To his happiness that is. Finnick didn't like being public anymore. Annie had died along with a large number of close friends and people he had once known. His personality was sure to warp. Still, after grieving, he refused to give into despair, trading his boyish glow with a now less active range of emotion. One of the many reasons we became good friends and at the same time… not-so good friends. Remembering him as he once was and having him there in front of me was painful, especially since his eyes held so much of what I wanted to forget.

He understood. Those left of the Hunger Games all did, though none of us would truly ever be able to interact anymore.

Anyways, I had arrived at a fishing dock near 'Texas', gripping the paper with his address written on it like a life-line.

Secondly, I care to report, it was hard for those from the Games to meet. The governors weren't expecting a conspiracy _per say_, but having two influential people get together randomly was justifiably unsettling.

So, I'd fooled the committee into thinking I simply wanted to see him in person. A reunion, if you will. And there was no denying anything from the one who had led the people to freedom.

I'd found Mr. Perfect living a low-key life, tying knots and catching sea creatures off the bay. Not far from when I last saw him.

It was hard to recognize Finnick at first. He'd grown out his golden hair to the nape of his neck, wild and unkempt. Morning stubble made his handsome face look somewhat more rugged, worlds away from his past personality. His once flawlessly tan skin was rubbed raw and scared, marks of hard labor settled permanently on his flesh while his biceps possibly doubled in size. Then again, it could have been the wiring in his metal arm.

I thought he looked better that way. Human; not a clone of Panem anymore.

He spotted me standing nearby, debating whether or not to approach him, and called out my name, happy to see a familiar face. I was hesitant and still unsure if my next few moves where the right thing to do, but I walked toward him none the less. During the riot, I'd done many rash and bold things, so why not now?

We headed back to his place, a small and cluttered shack by the beach, but not unpleasant, and I explained my growing doubts to him. Finnick listen attentively, asking question and keeping quiet at the right times. He knew that if I smelled a rat, I was right. It was an intuition that stuck with me even after the games. When I finished he confined that he had his own nagging suspicions and throughout the entire night, the both of us compared events in which we searched for any possible clues. I enlisted him to help in my investigation, and he quickly agreed. _"I want to do something productive,"_ he'd said.

Thankfully, an old friend of his (another fisherman) had given him a tiny submarine-like machine in secret before dying in a horrible boating accident. Nobody knew Finnick had it, and soon, both of us had a carefully drawn out plan in which we would be able to travel beyond the boarders of the Pacific Ocean.

The dull _thump_ of an arrow hitting its target echoed through the silent field. Thief lowered her bow and studied her work.

Off by an inch and a half.

She cursed mentally. Why was this so difficult? Katniss had hit the center three times in a row while explaining the proper technique. She wasn't even paying complete attention for Christ's sake! How was she able to do it so easily?

"It's your fingers. Don't spread them apart so much."

Thief startled a bit, surprised at her mentor's words. She adjusted her hands and readied herself to shoot again. It's as if she'd read her mind.

"But I am reading your mind."

This time her arrow flew in an arch way above the target. She whipped her head around, expression even but eyes glossed with astonishment. Her actions earned an amused smirk. "Take it easy. Your body language gave you away."

Katniss seated herself beside her, "You should work on that. It's good to communicate with others, but it'd be best to control yourself in front of enemies."

Thief nodded wordlessly and continued to shoot.

"Hey Doc, how long do you expect me to run 'round here?" someone shouted from down below. Katniss closed her eyes, tired. "Until you're feet begin to bleed," she said back, loud enough to be heard.

Liam scowled angrily, but didn't slow his pace. If Katniss said to run until his feet bled, that was what he was going to do. Otherwise, he'd have to face serious consequences.

Every morning, at seven, he'd wake up and drag himself down to her field. And every morning she'd have him run countless laps on the track from dawn till dusk. Nothing else but run. His lungs must have tripled in size by now!

_It better pay off,_ he told himself.

"Hey." Liam looked up and grinned, jogging up to the newcomer. "Hey Finnick! Thought you weren't in town yet." The young man stopped in front of him, happy to find an excuse for a break. Said male smiled in return, leaning calmly against a tree, "Well I had something important to take care of. Have you seen Katniss?"

Liam grimaced, "Well I ain't runnin' 'round here cause I'm bored."

Finnick gave a good natured laughed, strangely flatter than usual. Liam shrugged it off. "Yeah well you better get going before-" "Your feet aren't red so I see no point in standing there." The teen jumped and shot the both of them a quick glance, taking off just as Katniss reached the tree. His back remained under the iron gaze of the two ex-tributes as he ran relentlessly on the paved dirt.

"So, this important thing; it wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the plans, would it?" Silence followed, ticking on and on until Liam had passed them twice. She began to grow impatient and was about ready to snap on him for being a waste of time when a small index card was shoved in her face.

She took it roughly and scanned the messy writing. Her eyes widened.

_They've fooled the others._

Katniss was frozen stiff, unwilling to try and make any quick judgments. She inhaled and slowly relaxed her posture. This all brought back a bad sense of _déjà vu_. And all too suddenly, there was a very foul tasted in her mouth.

Finnick sighed heavily, "Unfortunately yes. It seems that the equipment you'd been waiting on won't be here any time soon. The shipment was lost in transaction, so they are currently in the process of finding you new tools as compensation."

His lines didn't sound robotic. Un-rehearsed.

Good.

"And I was so looking forward to your _amazing_ party for the kids," he finished off in the only way Finnick can. She gave a light growl in response, "I told you before. It's survivalist training. Not a party." He grinned and slumped a bit to the side, "I know. I was planning on joining in. It's easy to say that my knot tying is far more decent than yours."

Katniss locked eyes with his and the expression he wore gave him away, just as she'd said to Thief. _I'll explain during the training_. That was his message.

She nodded cautiously, "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm." _Sure. It's safe there._

He grinned again, and that signaled the end of the conversation. Now all she had to do was plan for training day that she had absolutely no idea about. Damn Finnick.

The sun was up high, maybe around noon, and the constant stream of small talk from the people outside soothed him. Too many papers were on his desk. Maybe he should throw some away. The ink stain from last week has dried up on half of them anyway.

"Darling, the kids have made a mess on the counter again," the light, feminine voice of a woman chimed from the doorway.

"Coming Dear." He stood and fiddled with his tie, trying to straighten it.

"Here," porcelain fingers touched his, coaxing them away so that they could finish the job. "Thank you," he said. The woman just smiled and took a step back, examining her work, "That's what wives are for. Now go. Your children would have messed up the entire shop by now."

The man chuckled and gave a peck on her cheek, "Right," and he disappeared behind the doorframe.

His wife 'tsked' and turned around, regarding the atrocious pile of paper, and set off on organizing it in a much less 'eye-sore' fashion. She picked one up that had been half covered in spilt ink when she saw the sketch. It was so life-like and precise (well, what was visible anyway) and she couldn't help but feel it was a waste. There was a name on the bottom which she guessed belonged to the woman in the picture. She read it with interest.

_Katniss Everdeen_

**Can anyone guess who this obvious mystery-man is?**

**Thank you for reading! See you in the next chapter.**

**Se7en**


End file.
